


Unrequited and Unrealized Lovers

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ;), Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Curse Breaking, Curses, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Idiots in Love, Kinda, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, he curse hollows out j's eyes but no pain or explicit description, they're all okay in the end!, uhm no smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: Now look at him, all he has is his buttercups, dripping out of his parted lips, tickling the soft skin under his eyes as they grow out of his hollow eye-sockets.Blood pitter-patters against the frozen ground as the flowers vine through him, over him, and the curse consumes him.The Wild reclaims him as its own.Somewhere, far up the mountain, Geralt feels non-existent petals tickle the roof of his mouth. He runs over rock, through forest, over fields and prays, and prays, and prays that he isn’t too late.Or, Jaskier nearly dies because Geralt doesn't know he's in love with his bard.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 205





	Unrequited and Unrealized Lovers

Decades.

Decades of sleeping around, falling in and out of love and he’s managed to avoid the infamous curse. A curse of hatred, Melitele’s way to stop cross-eyed lovers from following after the object of their affections— or perhaps, to put the one-sided lover out of their misery.

Jaskier plucks the wildflowers, gangly stems and all, and holds them to his chest to find some semblance of comfort. The Wild has always been there for him; creeping vines in the corner of the rooms, trees waving wildly from outside his window when his parents had locked in his room for days; leaves under his feet, crunching as he stumbles and forces himself to take another step behind Roach; even when he’d dripped blood out of his mouth, throat so swollen he couldn’t breathe— The Wild had sung to him in its wheezy breeze.

Now look at him, all he has is his buttercups, dripping out of his parted lips, tickling the soft skin under his eyes as they grow out of his hollow eye-sockets.

Blood pitter-patters against the frozen ground as the flowers vine through him, over him, and the curse consumes him.

The Wild reclaims him as its own.

Somewhere, far up the mountain, Geralt feels non-existent petals tickle the roof of his mouth. He runs over rock, through forest, over fields and prays, and _prays_ , _and prays_ that he isn’t too late.

He isn’t. Jaskier heart beats faintly as the witcher’s sword cuts through the bramble, panic thick in his throat. _Idiot,_ he wants to yell, _of all the people to fall in love with, he fell in love with me, and I with him._ The not-there flowers still tickle at his throat; time’s running out as the curse of unrealized love grows stronger, cruel in that the bearer only recognizes the love for another after the other is dead.

He is lucky he’s a witcher, for if not, he wouldn’t have felt the tickles of not-there flowers till they had filled his throat and left it sore. He pities humans for Melitele’s cruel curse and is glad for his mutated senses for the first time in his life.

_No, I love him. Don’t take him away from me now. Not now, not yet, not ever._

The buttercups finally recede from over Jaskier’s body, escaping from his eyes and lips, leaving nothing but the dust dead petal behind.

Geralt holds his breath as Jaskier coughs.

Blue eyes framed with blood blink up at him in confusion.

He’s supposed to be dead. Dead from his curse of unrequited love— he can’t be here blinking, breathing, and looking up at amber eyes unless—

…unless. 

But it can’t be.

Geralt offers out his leather-gloved hand, and his chest is light and guilty all the same. The witcher helps his bard to his feet and tells him—

…and tells him it is.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @elalalune's incredible art on tumblr! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


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